TO ALL POETS

Each of us is different
yet we are (bottom-line)
the same
true to self
that's what really  matters
words are the joys and tears of our heart
none can stop them--never, ever

SEASHELLS

Seashells
Humble shells of the sea
Each seems to be still alive and staring at me
In its matchless symmetry-
Like the wondrous beauty of a painting
A tender poem written with poignancy
Not of life’s sorrows but joys
For celebration –each is like a happy Mozartian symphony
Such perfection in a tiny manifestation
Natura in minimis maxima-
The envy of  Michelangelo or Da Vinci
Seashells—nature’s glorious gifts by far.

Seashells
Always remind me of happy childhood days
Lucky finds—spotted often in half -buried golden sand
Proudly displayed in a jar---I won every classmate’s praise.

Seashells
Tell of the sea’s unknown stories
Events that had stretched through millions of centuries
When you spot one on the shore, readily
Pick it up as a treasure----contemplate upon its profound mystery.

JOHN KEATS’ LAST POEM WRITTEN IN ROME ON 21st February 1821*
(From The Imagination Of The Writer)

I am fading, fading fast, *****,  my love eternal
Far away from you and home
I am dying, the hours I am counting
In what I liken to my grave that is Rome.

All that I seek in this dark loneliness is solace
Moments of respite thinking
Of you and our  past exchanges of affection
Dissolved by fate with our hopes descending

Unto the oblivion that had been pre-ordained
Tears are comfortless and what is to come
Is but this pain that seared love must bear unknown
Only self-felt and suffered without end that renders my heart  totally numb.

I can’t understand and it defies reason
The human heart should bear so much pain
While the tranquil stars hold so steadfast and the song
Of the nightingale drifts so sublimely in every sweet refrain.

Youth once gaily clothed in such beauty but now
Grows spectre-thin and here is but fret and fever
Where the old and infirm hang  their heads down
In tearful reminiscences  of happy days that have fled forever.

And now,  my *****, my only love, you alone in this
The saddest schemes of things should share
This my life so wretched , lost, unfulfilled and joy-bereft
I beg forgiveness, only  remember my poems—sorrow let us silently bear.


John Keats one of the greatest English romantic poets died on 23rd February 1821 in Rome,  aged twenty-five

Patience
patience
patience

it does pay
to be patient
any time
any day

patience
patience
patience

it's waiting
waiting
waiting

no, not delay
there will be a proper sun
then you can
put out the hay

patience
patience
patience

you aren't
an emergency patient
line up patiently
for your turn

patience
patience
patience

as you read
my lay*
look not at your watch
don't rush away

patience
patience
patience

don't long
my friend
for my sentence
to end

I've left the city behind--gladly
the world is closed for me
the light of day is shrinking silently
it's time to set my burden free--

I'll sing and fiddle my favourite melody
if inspired perhaps write some merry poetry
low is my salary and I can't afford brandy
so content to just drink cheap Chinese tea.

If Napoleon had read
Lawrence's 'Lady Chatterley's Lover'
he would stay in bed all day long
with Josephine instead of waging war in Russia.

I was dying of thirst
we had never met
you offered me your last drops
of water--how could I ever forget?

Brushing off
not others
but my old self
my true calling
I found
how my past
did confound
in ignorance
and futility-
the next chapter
would just be:
no strife
nor contention
but life
stripped of
its artificialities
self-deception
lies
and false images-


why hang up
a mirror
(so well-kept
polished and precious)
yourself to admire?
discard
smash it
you aren't a little child!

ah, what dross
that needs to be separated
from the grain!
self and self-occupation
is the most grievous pain-

cast away your books
leave your study-room
remove your sun-glasses
sweep away the dust
with a self-made humble broom
forget your Visa or Master-Card
(do you really need such?)
a cup of coffee
or a piece of bread
it doesn't cost much--

throw away
your pack of ***
(smoking causes cancer
it's really bad)
don't get drunk
just because
you are sad
you are still alive
be glad-

ride your old bike
it's dusty in the shed
it will bring back readily
happy memories
of growing-up years
when life was never frets or tears

do without
your mobile phone
the Frankenstein that plagues
and would never leave you alone-

go out there--it's spring!
in the glorious green
flowers are bursting
more alluring and enticing
than a Renoir or Monet's painting
the birds are chanting
the trees are dancing
birds are at full-throated singing
gentle breezes are caressing
lovers at the quiet corner are kissing
old couples hand-in-hand
they are walking and talking
in the park as the sun is shining
children are one another chasing
while their mothers are watching
the world seems well and thriving
and nothing seems wanting--

there I am
by the tranquil stream
not thinking
not contemplating
not reminiscing
self-forgetting
an experience
life-transforming
in a half-dream
as though
in the cosmic scheme
of things
I have come
to my own being-
my awakening.

Here I'm rejected
there I'll be condemned
I'll not be excepted
anyhow--slammed

in my face, subjected
to every form of malice-- crammed
among those suspected
of betrayal--- contempt

raises its venomous#  head and I'm hated
for the views I hold--  hemmed
by envious forces-- everywhere hunted
I am an innocent victim--******

and left to ideas I've constructed
my own pain to consume---stamped
TRAITOR* -- my only hope is to be vindicated
by future generations which would have my thoughts revamped!

You don't believe me? Ask my wife Alice
She will confirm I have no malice

INTERSECTION
Today--the intersection
between yesterday--temps perdu-
and the day that follows now
a midpoint
that's where
the waiting is
time that
dangles
hovers
splits
divides moments
clean-cut partitions
clock-wise precisions
which define
what was
this is and
that to be

until the day
that follows
the imagination
the expectation
that is now

reality is the here and now
staring right in your face-
this is the time
the place

IN FLANDERS FIELDS THE POPPIES BLOW*

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Here my comrades and I are laden
We fought for King and Country
Here we are---the fallen.

‘Be proud’, was the national proclamation
‘ You are the chosen’
We left home and our loved ones
Here we are—the ill-begotten.

Some of us  once upon glorious corridors
Of Cambridge and Oxford had trodden
The best and most fertile of young minds
Here we are—the forgotten.

How strong we then were, riding on the back of youth
Its dreams so sweet and resplendent
Rained by bullets in the battlefield
Here we are---death has spoken.

Pro patria gloria, dulcis pro patria mori
(Never mind if our hearts were cruel and rotten
We must **** all enemies  over the fence)
Here we are---the terrible  who were chosen.


Were we born to destroy and mutilate?
But in the battle-front ---all we loved and espoused had been stolen  
Buried in dark pits of hate and revenge
There we were----inhuman and despondent.

Those whom we slaughtered and maimed
Didn’t they like us once did hold dreams just as golden?
Weren’t they who happiness sought as we did?
Here we are—to bemoan all the precious from such that had been stolen.


In Flanders fields the poppies weep
For us who are far from home and have nowhere to return
With the wind’s nightly melancholic sighs whispering in our ears
Here we are----empty,  with dark sins upon us—for absolution is all we yearn.

• inspired by the opening line of John McCrae’s poem IN FLANDERS FIELDS   published in December 1915 (Flanders is in Belgium where a million died or were maimed).

John McCrae (1872—1918) was a Canadian doctor who joined the army as a gunner but later transferred to the medical service.
IN 1918 he was made consultant to all the British armies in France
but died of pneumonia before taking up the appointment.

I was not brave enough
couldn't be a soldier.

I was not strong enough
couldn't be a fighter.

I was not smart enough
couldn't be a teacher.

I was not musical enough
couldn't be a singer.

I was not talented enough
couldn't be a writer.

I was not handsome enough
couldn't be an actor.

I was not gallant enough
couldn't be a suitor.

I was and still am -  like none other
if you my lady fair count be not a loser
and fall headlong for me as your lover
though I was once nothing, am now the luckiest winner.

Sundays--none would see me
at that corner of the distant park
seated on a shaking wooden chair
under the same, bald and desolate tree--

Sundays (provided they don't rain)
I don't listen to the radio or watch TV
a notebook or a volume of Keats on my lap
I'll be alone in my chosen sanctuary-

Sundays (the faithful win me
over--  hearts have to be comforted--verily)
I take leave of wearisome life and society
with only me as company--

Sundays--time for reflection
from banal ties I set myself free
the toxic air of the public-square
I shun away---nature is harmony--

Sundays---age is sober and looks back
without rancour but with tranquillity
there were mistakes, harshness and folly
hidden pages from an old book reopened by memory-

Sundays--one follow another--how many
would (I wonder) still welcome me?
the young have their lush songs to sing
their most treasured dreams are yet to be-

This is Sunday--the sky is blue and pretty
happy kids are at frolic in the inviting green field
life in all its facets I've known and experienced
in this simple poem I've written my life-history.

I was there

here I am now

nothing has changed

no 'somehow'



but the heart's purity

to which I bow

love draws us closer

l'll never let you down

We should never envy the happiness of others just as we would not want them to view us in
the same vein. How is happiness quantified? Who knows the extent of other people's happiness? How do we know whether they are really happy? Are we conjecturing?

Leave others alone. It's totally futile to make any comparison between our state of happiness with that of others.

Let us learn to be content with our happiness however tiny that is. Aren't we lucky not to be living in pain or sorrow?  To wish to have our happiness augmented is indicative of our discontent. A true malaise that would be.

No one can be totally happy neither can we have the same degree of happiness all the time. Our happiness has its ebb and flow and this duality we should always remember.

Happy people also have unhappy days just as unhappy people might have some happy days. Life viewed from this perspective is an alloy of happiness and sorrow.
With that in mind, we can assuredly say that happiness and unhappiness are not mutually exclusive.

If we can understand and accept that life is never perfect, that our happiness is only a contingency as all other aspects of our life are , we would have done away with that which unsettles us and would be a step closer to achieving contentment and tranquillity in our individual life.

To me, acceptance is the utmost humility.

Short sentences do me well

I don't labour over what to tell

MAN’S INHUMANITY

There’s so much anger around
tolerance is a long-forgotten word, sadly-
and I begin to wonder in the silence of my heart
whether there’s any hope in humanity

anger, rage, frenzy, then hate
the will of  such people must be obeyed
society stands on shaky ground
compassion and charity is dead

to what are we humans born
but that we should kindness show?
goodness no longer rings in ears
  the world is ruled by endless callousness and ego

what took wisdom many a century to build
hate can demolish in a moment of frenzy
everywhere we hear the cry of pain
and sense the demise of humanity.

'LOVE IS BLIND'?

'Love is blind'?
what nonsense!
then how come we have
'love at first sight'?
Shakespeare in one sentence
had hoodwinked us since 1616
true, he wrote great drama and poetry
but we must note
he didn't study medicine
nor opthalmology
and mind you
we are living in the 21st century
with all the science and technology
surely it would be the greatest folly
to just quote the bard's cliche blindly

the eyes have it
ask the ophthalmologist

without the eyes
the lover would not see
beauty
and as a corollary
how could you love somebody
if in the first instance
you were blind id est--you couldn't see!

careful, so careful we must all be
to differentiate between reality
and the ranting of silly poetry
if this myth were to perpetuate nilly-*****
mankind would look really silly
that would look good not even to the slightest degree

and one more thing
please bear with me
and this is the bard's secret history

he had chancre--venereal ulcer
for which he received treatment
could he have written 'Love is blind'
being affected by that odious malady?

London's brothels he did visit frequently
when he was away from Stratford-upon-Avon
he drank a lot too--there is ample evidence
he also had anasarca (oh mercy!)
result of mercury-related membranous nephropathy
( we shall not defile him further-
but his alopecia was due to treatment of mercury
for his syphilis---what a medical litany!)

in conclusion
we could somehow see
that England's greatest writer
was not as bright as he had been taken to be.

My beloved Mother,
When the bus left the station last Friday, you and Xiao-ti
waved to me and I couldn't hold back my tears.
Sadness and worry was all over your face but Xiao-Ti is too young
to know what was going on. I will never forget that day--I was deeply touched and couldn't sleep that night.

This was the first time I left home and I felt all at once
I would no longer be under your loving care and Tieh's* constant guidance anymore.  I had to take care of and be responsible for myself.  This would be my first journey alone to face the whole wide world. Success or failure would depend on me.  Though I had some initial doubt,  I was able to quickly brush this feeling away. I am 18 and coming to my manhood, no longer a boy--I have to trust myself and my integrity.

I saw you sewing well past midnight the day before my departure
to make sure I would not lack anything--I can't thank you enough.
When I grow up and have finished my studies, hopefully at uni-level,  I'll get a good job. By then Tieh wouldn't have to work as I
together with Ta-ker# would take care of all our family's needs.
And I'll send Xiao-ti to a good school--he's very hard-working and smart--perhaps he can study to become a doctor! This, dear Mother,
I promise you.

On arrival at the school-hostel,  I immediately paid for my board and lodging.  The $5 weekly pocket--allowance is enough for me, so please don't worry; I won't need to write home for more.

As promised, I'll write home once a week. Tieh put a letter in my pocket which I discovered only on arrival.  He hoped I won't let you and him down or do things to bring shame to the family.
He quoted to me this proverb-- if one does not persevere during one's youthful days , regret would plague him all his life.
Be sure I will keep these words in my heart.

Poor Tieh,  he has lost weight recently taking on a second teaching job at night.  He has to walk several miles a day and his toe-nails are badly infected by fungus.  He should consult a doctor---this is an expenditure that's unavoidable---please persuade him as I know he's very stubborn when it comes to visiting the doctor. I'll write to him on this as well.

I am aware that our family budget is very tight as Ta-ker in Singapore needs a large sum for his pre-uni studies.  He will complete his studies only two years from now. Uni-fees are very high and the burden on Tieh and you would be very onerous.

I am trying to get a part-time job in a book-shop which is not too far from the hostel.  If I succeed, I'll earn $50 a month and you wouldn't need to send me any pocket-money.

Most of the students come from better families.  My room-mate has a Parker pen and a watch.  His parents send expensive cakes to him.
Another has a leather bag and wears branded clothes and shoes.

My violin is such a comfort to me.  I play every evening at the common-room after dinner, especially some of the Chinese folk-songs you taught me and my brothers when we were kids.
I always feel happier after playing. Ta-ker is a fine tenor and has written to me saying he has joined a choir in school--can't believe the music-teacher taught the students to sing Santa Lucia and O Sole Mio!  He has sent me the music so that I can play them on my violin.

Please take care of your cough--it seems to be getting worse. You must continue to take the cough-mixture regularly. If it persists, please go and see a doctor trained in Western medicine as I'm not sure whether the sin-seh^ is reliable or not.

I'll work hard and will send the quarterly report card after the term.

My love to you, Tieh and Xiao-ti.  I'll correspond regularly with Ta-ker.

I am, dear Mother
your always obedient and filial son
Ming

Pale leaves fall silently in the dead of winter
I realise I have lived far too long
I was once a bold and outgoing singer
but no longer has life left me any single song-

in the night's thickest snow I wander
the heartless winds they blow loud and strong
tears of forlorn love on icy rocks they flounder
in this chilling hour I weep,  to none do I belong

Waiting
treat it as blessing

waiting
for the new happening

waiting
sets the longing heart beating

waiting
love is in the offing

waiting
soon the sun will be shining

waiting
next will be the rose's blooming

waiting
the storms will be subsiding

waiting
after the night comes the dawning

waiting
a lesson in self--humbling

waiting
love shall say the most wonderful thing

waiting
the finest chef is preparing

waiting
surely winter is followed by Spring

waiting
the book's best part will be telling

waiting
the heart and mind in expanding

waiting
the ultimate testing


waiting
the birth of a new meaning

only in waiting
shall be the self-being.

I suffer from
roses-allergy
all because
of the rose you first gave me
you pinned it
on my chest
and said
'I'll love you for the rest
of my life and the end of time
believe me'
but your restless heart
went on a wild journey
too soon you said
'good-bye, I'm sorry
I've to go away
our love is not meant to be'.

I can't stand the sight
of roses, especially on Valentine's Day
while lovers their love and kisses exchange
my allergy keeps me away.

I was a shadow
then
a silhouette

( all that's
   in the universe
   is a process)

I dissolved
into mist-
next
I dispersed

transformed
into a vapour
then
disappeared

nothing
I became
nameless

from nothing
there could not
be anything

a state
of emptiness
in space

nothing
can touch
or capture  emptiness
as it's not there-
and ipso facto
it's beyond
death and decay

at the beginning
I had no form
I was nothing

now the process
has taken its course
and I return
to nothingness

and being nothing
is to be
in timelessness

and lastly
eternity
is that state
that brings
the demise
of time
and temporality-
that which at the start
was nothing
returns
to its source
the Universal Nothing.

A PAINTING NAMED ‘AN OLD BICYCLE’
                              
                                 She cycled with me and we chatted so merrily
                                I was eighteen and she was sixteen
                                Down the hill and across the meadow so freely
                               The flowers waved to us--life was beautiful and pristine.

                                'I'll love you forever ' she did say
                                The words echoed through the air
                                But too soon after to a foreign land she sailed away
                                I wrote sadly in my diary--' Love is so cruel and unfair'.

                                Time opens up a misty past
                                Like a river life silently glided along
                                How many first-loves did ever last
                                Despite love’s first ecstatic song?

                                This painting touches my heart so deeply
                                But no tears fill my weary eyes
                                Old age is but compassion and sympathy
                                When the heart is sure and youthful passion dies.

   prompted by a painting posted in Linkedin

London Bridge is falling down
    oh, my fair lady Olivia
    I can't take you to town
    I'll stay with your sister, sweet  Sylvia.

Welcome, poets
though we have never met
yet your poems have brought
warmth and joy to my heart--how could I forget

their poignancy and tender touch?
and for more of your poems I do pine
would you welcome me into your words-sanctum
as I would gladly invite you into mine?

And you, stranger, ask
why my wife left me
there was no food in the larder
the kids were hungry

Daisy wrote a note when she left
love can't subsist without money
I'm taking the kids away for good
your rich friend Henry I'll marry

THE ALCOHOLIC'S DITTY

Beer during breakfast
Whiskey during mid-day
Cognac at five
***** during dinner drives my blues away.

I am jumping for joy
My wife has filed for divorce
Drinks will solve all my legal problems
My best recourse!

They would kiss or drink
mindless of the risk-- reason
retreats as passion sweeps--
poison--what poison?

They mock the bystanders
'ours to pick is the very season
for we live to cheat and devour
poison--what poison?

Our creed is to take--no mistake-
we mind no other opinion
we are the Super-people- the new breed
poison--what poison?

Once all power we have seized
those who oppose us will be tried for treason
we make and execute the laws, we control the courts
if this is poison, we call it 'sweet poison!'.

Dear Mr......  I live in Melbourne.  Read your book--honest, bold, revelatory, trail-blazing.  I read much of Tolle and some of Chopra.  I like the way you have described your observations--they are sharp and insightful.  I am a Zen person and must have read Lao Tze's Tao -te-Ching 50? times ( my forthcoming book is on Tao leadership).   Every person finds their own way in their journey towards self-discovery and self-awareness. The path is a very hard one--it calls for so much patience, humility and determination. You mention happiness as a skill--so true.  What is so fascinating about Zen and Taoism is that it's an achievable art.  Happiness-gurus overstate their case,  they exaggerate,  they prescribe what they regard as THE ANSWER--- that's not true...and you have rightly written about their loss of cool, that they also exhibit impatience and dislike in stressful situations, that they self-aggrandise.  There is no perfect person on earth--even saints have their faults. Teachers must have humility, compassion, selflessness,  tolerance and goodwill----self-effacement I regard as the highest virtue being immensely affected by Taoism and Confucianism.  Yes, I live in the moment but my focus and attentiveness could never be the same or unencumbered.  But I do succeed in some measure.  He who wishes to meditate must come in purity of heart---he can't meditate if his heart and feelings are not right.  He needs to self-abandon, lose himself, feel as a child in the vast expanse of possible 'being', to be one with a Higher Reality or Consciousness....the letting-go is the route...My small book  IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF ZEN--THE PATH TO A CALMER AND HAPPIER LIFE released in Melb in 2018 has sold quite well.  For an unknown hobby-writer, I am more than gratified and have thanked my publisher for their faith in me.  It has accepted my Tao leadership book for release later this year---many lessons are in the same vein as found in Zen--after all, Taoism is the mother of Zen.  Someone wrote that Zen is the greatest discovery since the Enlightenment.  It has permeated every sphere of thinking and living.  I read Thomas Merton's SEEDS OF CONTEMPLATION some 50 years ago and continue to read him though I am not a Catholic (I don't have a religion being a humanist--agnostic?).  Merton was so enamoured of Zen that he edited a work of Zhuangzi, the most eloquent follower of Lao-tze.  The Vatican was very concerned as it was afraid he might abandon his original faith. But he didn't---his love of his faith even grew!  Now we have Zen-Christians, a phenomenon that testifies to the universality of faiths and beliefs.  I am sorry to have written so much.  Once again, thank you for your wonderful book.  Please drop me a line--I can learn from you.  Being a composer, musician and singer,  I find it easier to find my 'peak moments' when I am into it.   With my deep esteem and sincerest wishes.

I live
I feel
I experience
I think
I adapt
I change
I doubt
I question
I search
I fall
I fail
I struggle
I don't give up
I accept my limitations and fallibility
I know little
I try to understand
1 am eager to learn
I do my best
I don't need to compete
I self-correct
I accept reality
I believe in my dream
I embrace truth and beauty
I hold honesty and humility to be superior to wealth and power
I allow others to be
I'm not here to change the world
I know my station
I court no favour nor supplicate
I need little
I am not covetous
I do not have to strive to be happy
I accept suffering and pain
I choose my friends
I fear no rejection nor condemnation
I should never be obsequious

I love life
I don't fear and I accept death

I put all this together within a brief life-span
and meaning is all of my own creation.
I am human and accept all my imperfections

THE JOURNEY

I can't turn back
though the journey is far
and my feet are bleeding
while the wild wind lashes and leaves a scar

on my fragile face
in the grey sky the last star
seems to fade away and the shadows
of midnight are out to mar

all that which is beautiful and benign
hungry and thirsty but no inn is in sight
the dust scatters in the chilly air
not a single traveller is seen in the night

but I can't turn back
I have many promises to keep
and if I should perish in the nowhere
I would count that my peaceful sleep

TEN HAIKU (2nd Collection)

1

A little flower
by the side of the main road
I think it knows me

2

Aroma of coffee
bacon sizzling in kitchen
it's time to wake up

3

My first Latin class
amo, amas et amat
I yawned and I yawned

4

The soldier has packed
he will fight for his country
his wife and kids weep

5

The sea is at rest
fishermen return to shore
the sunset still glows

6

The old cherry-tree
beneath which the children play
it knows each by heart

7

Who is the singer
who wrote this beautiful song
mind not, just listen

8
In the old-folks' home
' Those were the days' someone sings
I think she's in tears.

9

Spring day in Melbourne
the mall is full of shoppers
' mummy' a child calls

10

Between two pine-trees
stands an old wooden cottage
none knows who lives there

THE PAST

The past      etched in time's memory

engraved in my mind-scape  
        
faces    places

colours    sounds     smells   moments

undercurrents of emotions  

of feelings   of images

of glimpses of joy   of sorrow  

of laughter    of  tears  

of love   of tenderness

of   resolutions    of doubts  

of regrets   of remorse  of loneliness

of what had been    or could have been

everything had evaporated like dreams

but all seems so dim  now  

neural debris    
weakening dendrites  

the past is but shadows

    an illusion  

  a shadow-play    

the essence was then --  

most memories have vanished or  faded at the present hour

the past   what are its uses    

what are its abuses

time measures all  

swallows   all  

it takes no sides  

neither a friend or foe

the past     I was    

the present   I am  

the future   I don't know

5th May 2014

In response to a Post by someone:

'Eckhart Tolle, after 27 years of acute depression, overcame this, in a state of bliss in ONE DAY. Is that possible?'

We are unhappy as we hold ourselves too seriously, too tightly, too selfishly, too judgementally.

In Zen and Taoism, we get rid of our ego, we don’t have fixated thinking, we accept life in all its facets—joy and sorrow, the pleasant and unpleasant—-we follow the flow of life and don’t fight against it. In our centred-ness, we hold our equilibrium in equanimity.

Ingredients making for happiness and sane living, in any culture, are fundamentally the same:

acceptance, kindness and compassion, love, generosity, simplicity, humility, patience, insight, forbearance, magnanimity, forgiveness, humour and in adoration of the transcendental, the divine and all that which is beautiful and life-enhancing.

This is a lifelong journey—we don’t need to lean on any person or their thinking.

ET has many critics, but also a huge following-
it shows the extent of existential angst of so many people in our anxious, restless and confused world.

The beach
and I
alone
the winter night
I hear its sigh
mingling
with my own
there are words
in silence
between us
a strange kinship
forged in stillness
I can't explain why
my feet  touch
the soft tender sand
a vibration
it does seem
to travel through
my total being
am I in a dream?

I feel
there's life
hidden
vibrant
in its every particle
and atom
I'm reminded
all at once
nature is a miracle
in every manifestation
open to the sympathetic eye

the sea recedes
at a late hour
it sings a dirge
as though
in a painful cry

the sky
is empty
no cloud
is in sight
the moon shivers
the stars slowly
away they fade
and die

man and nature
each bears a heart
they share rapture
and pain they harbour
against the backdrop
of time and its temper
Sturm und Drang
the sweet and sad songs
they had at the beginning
together embraced
and sung

after tonight
I'll never be
the same again
for life's mystery
I have tasted
and drunk

the hours quicken
the trees they wail
and the winds they sail
in gentle sweep
the leaves are shaken
a voice ethereal drifts
through the waters
the ripples are silenced
I harken
as though
in obedience:
'  I'm the first
  of time
  but willed
  not to be the last
  enchained
  like Prometheus
  to unending years
  yet humans not one
  do know my tears
  and you whom
  I meet tonight
  will carry my message
  and relate my story
and agony
near and far
for how blessed
you humans are
to know
the taste
of mortality'.

What love is not
is more important than what it is
the young lover dreams
about moonlight and the first kiss
he reads too many romantic books and is hooked
to love like a drug-- but love is not always sweet wine
worse than hemlock when it enters the blood-system
and no medicine can cure--the poets say (do they know?)-love is divine
too much given to poetic licence
with little substance when viewed in real life
love is suffering, rejection, loneliness, in-fighting, day-dreaming
a litany of hurt feelings, threats, murderous accusations--an endless strife
if in my youth someone
had told me so
I wouldn't have found myself in that self-inflicted hell
and would have avoided so many a sorrow

To Nightingale 74-  Poetic Bird

Dear Poetic Bird
Fly, fly, fly high
With every song, every word
You beautify the sky.

Dawn is breaking
Dreams are beckoning
Love is awakening
Dance, rejoice, sing and sing!

* Nightingale is a fellow-writer

The bad belongs to the good

sadness is to joy alloyed

life is perpetual flux indeed

what's built can be destroyed

But this state of mind
is not self-chosen
but ****** upon
by life's myriad slings
of suffering
and indifference

the body and mind
are first buffeted
and later bruised and hurt
marks of pain are imbedded
like those branded
on the backs
of sheep and lambs
to stay and persist
to linger on and to violate
until life's last breath--

to be mortal
to be human
to feel
to hope
is to know Weltschmerz
sooner or later
few could such escape
seldom does its intensity
subside or abate

the monotony
the sameness
the chagrin
the weariness
the emptiness
the unchanging taste
of repeated experience
the brevity of joy
the hard knock of constant sorrow
on the weak and vulnerable door
of the heart, already shrinking
and sinking
the too-quick ending
of a love-song
and the night--kiss
vanishing
at the first peep
of the day's dawning

the unbearable thirst that's only
satisfied momentarily
but never quenched
soon enough the spring
dries up and the drought
sets in to aggravate--the despair
that returns to roost, hovering
ready for descending
on the self in quivering--

life has lost its meaning
living is but struggling
the moon has gone into hiding
the stars are tired of glittering
the tides are waning
the flowers are drooping
the trees are weeping
and love is farewelling--

Weltschmerz
the ultimate angst
that festers and invades
our total being.

I paused
not because
I was lost
events have
moved like
a cinema- screen
pictures upon pictures
have been tossed
all across
before the blink
of the sharpest eye
nor the smartest mind
could digest or think

whatever that's along
the road would never
make me sink
nor bring
me to the brink
of despair-- somehow
I would be able to find
(despite my unbearable thirst)
water to drink
from some remote spring

defeat--call it quits
never does enter
my thinking
it calls for raw unflinching
courage to be a human being^

man at the last
as was at beginning
never a paltry thing#

my pausing
is my renewing
a new breath
I'm taking
my just-resting
a while-- waiting
for my resurrecting

a personal drama
at the crossroad^
a performing
with none watching
the moment of truth^
in the budding

the hard ground
my bed--
with no pillow
nor blanket
but the stars^
are patient and kind
their gentle light
they shed
and these words
they seem to have said:
do not lose heart^
for you will find
your heart-land ahead
only that
you must have faith...^

My love knows no Louis Vuitton  or Cartier
she doesn't belong to the city
she lives in a farm with her parents and siblings
in the faraway country.

My love thinks not of manicures
her hands are busy in the soil
the flowers and plants relish their tender touch
from dawn to dusk she does toil

My love didn't go to uni
but she knows Keats, Byron and Shelley
even French, German and Russian poetry
lots of Sartre and Camus--she takes delight in philosophy.

My love is no Maria Callas nor Joan Sutherland
but beautifully she sings Schubert's lieder
opera and folk songs she takes delight in
like none other

My love never had music lessons
how she excels on the piano
she plays Mozart, Beethoven and Bach by ear
at the music-hall the villagers love her as she plays solo

I am the son of old John Mac Gregor
her next-door neighbour
I  went to school never
too shy to date her

Dad and mum said
learn to write poetry
send her a sweet love poem
if she likes it, she will marry you---happily!

The ******* is also a person
in their own right--whatever their reason
to be such--- mostly by necessity-driven
it's not as though they commit a crime or treason.

When to use the comma (lest you sob)
or apply the colon and semi-colon
but wisdom at its upper top
is to know when to insert the full-stop--

life is the moment that springs forward
as every flower, plant or crop
action it calls for such that joy and happiness is brought forth
in time's ripeness, ere away the day's last sun-rays drop.

I turned left
then right
I looked in front
and back
even side-way
quite forgot
what the fuss
was all about-
but people wouldn't stop
the same message
they continued to chant:
'We have found the Truth'--

ten a.m.
in the city
clouded by thick mist
the faces of the crowd
I couldn't see clearly--

St Paul's bell
struck gently
the voice of choir
I heard--I stepped away
from the swelling crowd
saw a mother holding
her child's hand
as they entered the church
'Hurry,  Rosie, we are late...'

that moment
was sublime
as though
the veil
of a deep mystery
had unfolded before me--
it touched my heart
so deeply
I couldn't tell why
so many years had gone by
that morning
I still remember
it made me cry.

SING ME A SONG’

To me she said passionately: Sing me a song
say you love me
just a song from your true heart-
I’ll readily marry thee’.

She had been seen since in town and country
Saying that to every man she fancied and had just met
The next day she stole away like the silent passing of night
Every man she happily did forget.

IF TEARS HAVE THE POWER OF SPEECH

If tears have the power of speech
every single word they utter
would melt the hardest heart
(tears--they don't lie)
purity drawn from life's river of sorrow
every drop unblemished
truth has nothing to hide

it's as though
a new vocabulary
has appeared with tears
a language beyond
the sufferer's reach

tears -they don't lie
let them flow
they know
the heart's every woe
and are the sufferer's proxy

they console
they cleanse
they redeem
they heal

because they don't lie
they transcend
all human foibles

their purity breeds
a new heart
which having been purged
by the crucible of pain
would not bleed again

They say to me
this is a Christian country
a land of prosperity
what does that mean to me?

they add: don't your worry
the Government has a plan to eradicate poverty
I have waited for years ten and twenty
I'm still begging in the city!